


The Return

by unusuallyabigail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gay, Indian Harry, M/M, Muggle John, Other tags to be added, PoC Harry, Potterlock, What to put here, Wizard Sherlock, first multichapter ay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 15,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unusuallyabigail/pseuds/unusuallyabigail
Summary: John knew he didn't know much about Sherlock's past, but when it shows up at the front door, he may be finding out more than he wanted to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! As always, comments are very appreciated! As a new author, I'm always open for constructive criticism. I hope you enjoy this story!

_He’s coming. -MH_

Two words, glaring from the phone screen, enough to send a mix of disgust and panic shuddering through Sherlocks thin frame as the detective stood in 221b Baker Street. As he aimlessly glared at the message, his phone buzzed once more.

_I advise you warn Dr. Watson. Last I checked, he was unaware of our predicament. -MH_

With that, Sherlock hurled the offending phone across the room, stalking throughout the flat, ignoring John Watson’s call of “What was that?” as he approached the door. The dark-haired man started locking it, something he almost never did, when John came up behind him. “Sherlock, what the hell-are you locking the door?”

“Yes.” John walked into Sherlock’s view, confusion evident in his face.

“And why are you doing that?”

“Avoidance of an old friend.” Sherlock muttered, the word friend spat out in disgust. John merely rolled his eyes in response, long-used to Sherlocks definition of ‘friend’.

“Right, well try to keep blood out of the carpet. Mrs. Hudson will throw a fit.” John replied easily, before turning and leaving his eccentric roommate to his business.

~~~

Two days later found John’s voice carrying through the flat as he stared at Sherlock’s newly repaired phone. “Why the hell is Mycroft texting you about my sister?”

Sherlock appeared in his doorway, goggles balanced haphazardly in his black curls as the ash-blonde continued. “‘Harry will be there soon. Do warn Dr. Watson.’ What the hell is he on about?”

“Oh. That.” Sherlock replied blandly before leaving. John stood, following.

“Yes, ‘that’! Sherlock!”

Sherlock whirled around, labcoat flying dramatically around him, facing the older man. “It isn’t your sister. I told you, it’s an old friend. One from school, in fact. It doesn’t concern you.” John stepped back as though physically hit at the last remark, opening his mouth to yell out a scathing reply when a knock sounded at the door.

Sending Sherlock one last glare to make it clear the conversation would continue, John went to see who their newest case was, opening the door to find a thin young man with messy dark hair and eerily green eyes. The man’s face fell when he saw John, smile leaving thin lips, glasses sliding down his nose. “I’m terribly sorry, but does a Sherlock Holmes live around here?”

“Yes, of course. I’m his flatmate, John Watson.” John ushered the man inside, briefly scanning the street for a car or taxi only to find neither. He mentally shrugged, closing the door.

The thin man standing inside offered John a smile. “Sorry, I just didn’t think Sherlock the type to share a flat. I’m-” The man suddenly cut himself off as Sherlock appeared in the hall, only to turn and attempt to walk away. “Sherlock!” Sherlock barely even stopped moving, just glanced over his shoulder to glare at the green-eyed man.

“My answer remains the same, Potter. I’m not one of you. Not anymore.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odd things happen when John invites their new guest inside...

John stood, staring at the space Sherlock has just occupied. _Not one of you_ , he said said. What would that even mean?

The man standing next to him, Potter, coughed awkwardly. “Well, um, that went well.” He joked, green eyes betraying his discomfort.

“Er, I don’t suppose you’d like some tea?” Potter nodded, and John led him into their kitchen, grabbing the kettle. “Um, sorry about Sherlock, he’s a bit of a twat. But I’m guessing you knew that.” He looked at the taller man, eyebrow raised in silent question. Potter coughed again, glancing quickly around the flat.

“Me and Sherlock, we went to school together.” He said. “My name is Harry, by the way. Harry Potter.”

Harry stuck out his hand, which John took. “Pleasure.” He let go quickly, an awkward silence settling over them. “So, you-” A loud whistle from the kettle interrupted John and he rushed over, pouring the water into two (hopefully) clean mugs and adding in teabags. Handing one to Harry, he sat down opposite him. “So,” he repeated. “School with Sherlock. Can’t imagine he was much fun.”

The taller man laughed, shaking his head. “Not much. He would always correct the teachers, resulting in more homework. Most of the year hated him.” The smile turned a bit said. “Never had many friends, Sherlock. Don’t suppose that’s changed much…”

“He has people who care about him.” John said firmly.

“Good. That’s, that’s good.” More silence.

“So, were you two friends?” Something about Harry was striking a chord in John, something unpleasant. The soldier was standing at attention, wary and watching. It was almost as though Harry was hiding something. “Where did you two go to school anyway? He’s never told me.”

Harry froze up slightly, hardly enough for John to catch. “Oh, some boarding school up in Scotland.” The taller man said hastily, dark skin reddening slightly under John's gaze. “Very unknown. Hush hush and all that.”

John hummed, watching Harry closely. “Uh-huh. What part of Scotland?” Harry's brows furrowed, green eyes seeming to darken as he opened his mouth again.

“What are you trying to-”

“Why the hell is he still here?” Sherlock burst in again, new chemicals on his lab coat and smoking lightly. He paused only to stare expressionlessly at Harry. “I requested that you left.”

When Harry replied, his voice was surprisingly frigid. “I was just leaving actually.” And with that he was gone, still-hot mug of tea left bubbling in his wake-wait, bubbling?

“You must have pissed him off.” Sherlock remarked.

John, still staring at the calming tea, took a moment to reply. “Yeah, he...I had a bad feeling.” He stated slowly. The detective nodded, grabbing a knife from their small collection before retreating back to his own room, leaving John alone to his thoughts.

_Just who the hell is this Harry Potter anyway?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy with this, but I was already late with updating so I decided to just stop messing with it. As always, comments and kudos would be lovely, and I'll see y'all with the next update.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is trying to figure out why Potter is back, and comes across old memories he'd rather forget

It was safe to say that, for the first time, Sherlock was lost.

He had been stable, he had a job, a flatmate, was mostly off of drugs, He had a steady life, a steady case with Moriarty, and was almost safe.

Then Harry-no, not Harry. Then _Potter_ came back.

_ ”Are you Sherlock Holmes?” _

_ The Ravenclaw turned at the sound of a small voice, coming face-to-face with a scrawny Gryffindor with round glasses and huge green eyes. “Yes.” He replied stiffly, before turning back around and continuing to walk. Light footsteps fell from behind Sherlock and the smaller boy-first year?-chased after him. _

_ “I’m Harry, Harry Potter! I heard your name, the Weasley twins were talking about you, is it true that you can read minds?” The boy was chattering incessantly. “They said-” _

_ “They were wrong.” Sherlock stopped walking, causing the boy-Harry Potter-to run into him. “I do not read minds, that’s ludicrous. I see and I deduce.” _

_ Harry moved in front of the Ravenclaw, standing with him arms crossed. “Prove it.” _

_ “Excuse me?” _

_ “You said you can deduce people.” Harry's eyes bore into Sherlock's own. “Prove it.” _

_“You’re small for your age, ridiculously so. Bone structure suggests stunted growth, probably from lack of proper nutrients. In class, you shrink back when people raise their voice, yet often refuse to back down entirely. Signs point to abuse from whatever family you stay with, long-time abuse. You befriended the least popular people you found, suggesting either a hero complex or a guilt one. You refused to be friends with Draco Malfoy, something I overheard him complaining about, which suggests you don’t want the fame and power which comes with that scar.” Sherlocks eyes lingered on Harrys covered forehead. “The mark Voldemort left when he destroyed everything you had.”_

_ Harry, for his credit, flinched back yet stood his ground. “How did you even know all that?” _

_ “I see and I deduce.” Sherlock attempted to get around the Gryffindor, but Harry blocked his path once more. _

_ “Well, it's unfair that you know so much about me and I know nothing about you. Want to change that?” Harry stuck out one hand, a hopeful expression on his face. “Friends?” _

_ The taller boy froze. He had never had a friend before, no one ever cared for him outside of Mycroft. The boys his age thought he was a freak, or a Legilimens. He stared at the bony hand being held out to him, thinking over his possible options. _

_ Sherlock took it. _

Shaking his head, as though to physically remove the memories, Sherlock moved throughout the flat in effort to find where John had stashed his cigarettes. 

Why had Potter come back? Why now?

After all Potter had done, he felt it necessary to come back _now_ , after Sherlock had put his life together? After he was finally happy?

It didn't matter. Not really. Sherlock wouldn't let Potter back into his life, not now and not ever. He wasn’t that Ravenclaw anymore, big of heart and weak of mind. He wasn’t some wizard in desperate need of someone to lean on.

He was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, Muggle genius. And he planned to stay that way.

Potter would not ruin this life for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, a bit of insight on Sherlock and Harrys relationship! I'll be going further into that later, I'm trying to leave it faintly ambiguous for now.  
> As always, comments and kudos are my drug, and I hope y'all are enjoying this!  
> See you next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries tp forget, but it's not exactly easy to erase your own past.

John had gone out for shopping, leaving Sherlock alone. Scared, paranoid of Potter returning, Sherlock was in his room with his gun, ignoring the itch for nicotine underneath his skin.

His eyes strayed to the closet, where he knew it was hidden, the one thing he had kept to remind himself of who he was. Ash wood and unicorn hair, 10 and a fourth inches, was his wand. Before he know what was happening, Sherlock had gone into the closets doors, digging through a pile of trousers to the small box that lay there peacefully, coated in dust.

He opened the box slowly, feeling the familiar rush of exhilaration running through his veins as he lifted the thin wood from its box, the familiar rush of magic through his fingers.

Magic.

Sherlock flinched, throwing the wand back into the box as though it had burned him. No, this wasn’t him, not anymore, he was a man of science. A detective, a Muggle now, not someone who believed in this bloody trash, not someone who relied on an uncontrollable force.

“Sherlock?” Johns voice rang, accompanied by the sound of the door closing. Sherlock didn't respond, couldn’t respond, still staring hatefully at the little box. The little box holding a seemingly useless stick.

“Sherlock? You still here?”

John. Concentrate on John. Muggle, magicless, ex-military John, Sherlock’s tie to London, Sherlock’s partner. Blue eyes, greying hair, warm smiles. John Watson. Sherlock’s breathing slowed, his posture relaxing ever-so-slightly. 

“If you’re here, I got more tea. Your favorite.”

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock responded, quickly kicking the box-and its contents-back into the closet before going to grab his tea.

_ ”You know, I never really liked tea.” _

_ Sherlock regarded Harry as though he were mad. “You don’t like tea? You’re British.” _

_ “Dunno, I always preferred spicy things.” Harry shrugged, going back to the book he had been reading. Sherlock regarded him closely. _

_ “Probably because you’re half-Indian.” _

_ Harry looked at him in shock. “Am I really?” _

_ “You didn’t know?” _

_ “Never really thought about it. The Dursleys certainly didn’t care.” _

_ Sherlock continued watching him quietly, before turning back to his own book. Harry, now a fourth year, was being forced into competing in a deathly tournament. While Harry researched his task, Sherlock was desperately trying to find a loophole, not wishing to lose the only friend he had. _

_ “Do you ever-nevermind.” Harry abruptly cut himself off. _

_ Sherlock peered at him. “What?” _

_ “I said nevermind, it's stupid.” _

_ “Probably. Tell me anyway.” _

_ Harry sighed, adjusting his thin glasses. “I was just wondering, if you ever fancied anyone. Like how I fancy Cho Chang.” _

_ Sherlock's mind wandered to fantasies he had had, to messy hair and dark skin, bright green eyes flashing with laughter or deadly anger. To a snarky attitude and a sweet smile, to unwavering loyalty and a desperate need for approval. _

_ “Not at all.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sherly...I honestly don't know where this will turn, but I'm kinda pumped for it.  
> As always, comments and kudos are fantastic, and thank you to everyone who's read this. See you!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More memories are revealed, as is another guest

“So, what’s been on your mind lately?” John asked, feigning casualty as Sherlock made his way into the kitchen.

The detective paused. “My mind never stops, John, you’ll need to be more specific.” Sherlock tried to leave once more, but was stopped by John blocking his exit.

“I mean,” the doctor said slowly, “why has Potters visit freaked you out so much? Who was he?”

Once it became clear that John wouldn’t budge, Sherlock sighed. “He told you we went to the same school.”

“Yes, some school he couldn’t even tell me the name of.”

“It was private!” At Johns glare, he continued. “Harry and I were...close. He was my friend, dare I say it. And he abandoned me for someone better.” Taking advantage of the sudden emotion clouding Johns features, Sherlock pushed past, storming up to his room and slamming the door like a toddler having a fit.

John looked at where the detective disappeared to, mind whirring. That explained why Sherlock was reacting poorly, but there were still things he wasn’t telling. There had to be something else, or else Potter wouldn’t have come back. And why would no one share the name of the bloody school?

Sherlock, meanwhile, was glaring at his closet once more. Damn Potter, damn him for messing up the routine, damn him for messing up Sherlock's delicately placed facade.

_Damn him, was all running through Sherlock’s mind. Damn that Ron Weasley for suggesting they play some idiotic game, strip poker of all the things, to celebrate the win for Gryffindor’s Quidditch team. Damn Harry for inviting him, and damn Sherlock himself for agreeing to attend. Now he was sitting here, in the chaotic boys dormitory, watching Harry unbutton his shirt, much slower than necessary. Weasley was already down to his boxers, while Finnegan has only lost his tie and socks. Thomas was shirtless, and Sherlock was fully clothed._

_But all he had eyes were was the plane of dark skin being uncovered as Harry finally shrugged the shirt off his broad shoulders._

_“Fine lads, start the game again.” Harry was laughing, and Sherlock tore his eyes away from the flat stomach, the-the game, pay attention to the game._

_He stared at the cards in his hand, elegant fingers absently fiddling with the edges, ignoring joking whoops coming from a certain Irishman's lips. Sherlock wasn’t used to this, not having full control over his body and mind, not being able to get all that gorgeous skin out of his brain._

_Damn Ron Weasley, indeed._

_Unbeknownst to Sherlock, Harry was watching the pink spread across the young Ravenclaws cheekbones, wondering what could possibly be happening in that brain of his._

~

John didn’t mention Potter the next day, something Sherlock silently thanked him for. The only time either of them spoke were to exchange pleasantries, but the silence was far from uncomfortable.

That is, until Sherlock’s phone pinged sharply, showing a text from Lestrade, the detective that Sherlock helped out on cases.

_There’s someone demanding you at the station. He refuses to leave. Bring John just in case. GL_

Frowning, Sherlock read it aloud, causing John to stand and grab his coat.

“D’you think it’s something to do with Moriarty?” John asked, repressing a grimace at the thought of the shameless criminal.

Sherlock shook his head, curls flying. “They would’ve come to the flat.” Hailing a taxi, Sherlock stepped in, Watson following his lead. The ride to the Scotland Yard was only a few minutes, so they sat in easy silence, both men trying to determine who it was, only Sherlock having a vague idea of what to expect.

Opening the doors with flourish, Sherlock allowed John to walk in front of him, quickly scanning over the premises for any immediate threats.

_No freelance guns in sight, no bombs, no signs of gas or drugs._

But there was an unusual guest, a sharp-face man in an expensive black suit, pale blonde hair slicked back to emphasize cheekbones that rivaled Sherlock's own.

“Holmes.” greeted Draco Malfoy. “Been awhile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's late, and longer than usual. I'm hoping the chapters will continue to grow in length, but who knows where the story will take me.  
> Kudos and comments are my only life support, so please keep me breathing.  
> See y'all later!  
> (tumblr: @ao3wannabe)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy is still a snake, just now with different motives

It had been a bloody weird week for one John Watson. His mental, antisocial flatmate had been confronted with someone who insisted he was an old friend, Sherlock was hiding things, and now there was another unknown man who clearly knew the detective. John wasn’t a genius, but he was clever, clever enough to know something was seriously wrong with the situation.

“Holmes.” the blonde man said. “Been awhile.”

Next to John, Sherlock was more stiff than usual, eyes colder and face more drawn. When Potter visited, Sherlock had been angry, enough to admit it to the other man. But the look on his face now was quietly furious, something that scared even the ex-soldier.

Lestrade, meanwhile, was awkwardly glancing back and forth between the three men crowding his office, before clearing his throat. “Mr. Malfoy,” The blonde man turned. “Now that Sher- I mean, detective Holmes is here, d’you mind getting out of my office?”

Malfoy nodded sharply, arching one elegant eyebrow at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock merely turned and left, allowing Malfoy to follow. As John moved to join them, Lestrade stood, gripping his arm cautiously.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but watch after him, yeah?” Lestrade said, wrinkles marring his skin, silver hair slightly out of place.

John nodded. “I promise.”

~

Sherlock could hear Malfoy strutting behind him, sniffing distastefully at the crowded station. “Why you wish to fraternize with Muggles, I’ll never understand…” He muttered. Sherlock turned.

“What do you want?”

Malfoy stared at him coolly, Sherlock returning it with equal ice. “Harry came home a few days ago, terribly worked up. All he said when I asked was ‘just some damn old classmate.” Malfoy's gaze drifted over Sherlock's coat. “I, what’s the word, _deduced_  it was you.”

“I requested your dear husband,” Sherlock spat the word out, “stayed away from me.”

“He wanted to apologize!” Malfoy’s perfect composure was breaking; Potter had always been his weak spot, whether it was love or hatred driving him. “He wanted to try to fix things, you selfish dick!”

Sherlock listened stonily, eyes drifting over the blonde’s shoulder to see John walked towards them, expression worried. “If that will be all, Mr. Malfoy, I have business to attend to.”

“Mr. Malfoy-Potter.” Malfoy twisted his expression into a sneer. “As of last week, that is.”

Something in Sherlock's chest hurt, something dark twisting, eating at his heart and stomach.

_Malfoy-Potter._

“Well, my congratulations.” He said, venom coating his tone as he pushed past Malfoy to reach John. “Goodbye, Malfoy.”

“Have fun with your Muggle.”

Sherlock froze. John was too close when Malfoy said that, had heard. Was now mouthing, muggle?, brows drawing together in confusion.

“Let's go, John.”

“Sherlock, what-” John was cut off as Sherlock stormed past him. Hurrying after, trying to catch up to Sherlock’s long legs, he began again. “What the hell is a Muggle?”

“A poor nickname from school. Nothing unpleasant.” Sherlock replied, but the way he said it suggests that it was unpleasant, or at least it was meant unpleasantly.

“Well who was Mr. Malfoy?”

John didn’t think it possible, but Sherlock became more withdrawn at the question, nearly hiding in that damned collar of his. “Potters...husband, now.” He stated, monotonous.

“Oh.” It was obvious this whole situation was affecting Sherlock, and frankly, John had no idea what to do.

However, he had an idea of who might.

When they reached the flat, Sherlock retreating up to his room. John watched after him cautiously, waiting until the detective was out of earshot before reaching for his cell phone and dialing a number he often wished he didn’t have.

“Mycroft? I need a favor. It’s about Sherlock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, seems Johnnys gettin a little fed up here.  
> Comments and kudos go directly into my life support, see y'all later!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is really fed up at this point, isn't he? The poor dear...

“Pray, tell me, why aren’t you asking my dear brother about this?”

“He won’t tell me.” John gritted through his teeth. He and Mycroft had been going in circles for the past half hour, the older man unwilling to offer up any kind of explanation.

While John was clearly irritated, Mycroft only seemed slightly amused. “If he won’t tell you, why should I? Potter and Malfoy are extraordinarily connected to him, if he hasn’t told you, then you shouldn’t know.”

_ Mycroft, doing his Prefect rounds, rounding a corner. Sherlock crying. “He-he chose Malfoy. He chose Malfoy.” Mycroft goes to embrace him, but is stopped. The cold, emotionless Holmes mask being carefully replaced on both brothers faces. _

John sighed irritably in response, before simply hanging up instead of responding.  Obviously the elder Holmes would be useless, what else was new?

~

Mycroft glared at the phone. As always, Watson had been distastefully emotional.

Evidently Malfoy had shown up. Mycroft had known, of course, that the blonde was still involved with Potter, but he didn’t expect for him to show up and threaten Sherlock. The audacity of some wizards, Mycroft would never understand...even being a wizard himself. 

He sighed, headed slowly towards his fridge. He didn’t wish to deal with this, not again.

~

And now Sherlock was avoiding him. Brilliant.

John stared at Sherlock’s back heavily, imagining a small scenario where he simply tackled the detective, pinning him until Sherlock explained this entire mess to him. Or John could just-

Nope, not going down that particular train of thought.

Sherlock himself was sitting backwards on the couch, facing away from John, hands folded in front of his face and knees pulled up to his chest. John, who had been attempting to bring up the subject of either Potter or Malfoy for several days, was about ready to yank those damn curls out of his head if the detective didn’t bloody-

“Do you mind thinking more quietly?”

That bastard.

“Excuse me?” John said, somewhat amused. The first time Sherlock speaks in days…

“I’m attempting to think. I can’t if your mere train of thought is annoying me.”

That. Bastard.

“For fucks sake Sherlock!”

Sherlock actually turned, even looking surprised at Johns minor outburst.

“What the hell is happening that you can't tell me, hm?” The doctor continued. “What is so damn insane that you can't tell me?” His face was heating, he knew it was near red, and his ash-blonde hair was mussed.

Sherlock shifted from his spot on the couch.

“Nothing?”

Silence.

“Of course…” John stalked out of the apartment, grabbing his coat on the way out, door slamming dramatically behind him.

Sherlock watched after him silently, mentally screaming. He couldn’t tell John, not without revealing more than he wished. He hadn’t expected the older man to be so upset. He knew, of course, that John was fond of him, or else they wouldn’t be friends, correct? They were friends? Still, John seemed...confusingly invested in the detective's well-being.

Sherlock sighed, burying his face in his hands. Sometimes the human mind was such a confusing place...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about my irregular updates. They'll only get worse unfortunatley. School musical, grades, mental health, etc. I'll try my best to at least keep a steady stream of chapters though.   
> Kudos and comments go directly into my heart and soul, so please tell me what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is not well in Baker Street...

_”Sherlock! /Sherlock!/ Where are you going?”_

_ Harry’s voice rang out through the corridor as he chased Sherlock , struggling to keep up with the Ravenclaw’s much longer legs. “OI!” _

_ It was their sixth year at Hogwarts, and war was raging outside of Hogwarts walls. The two boys had only grown closer over the years, constantly finding comfort in each others often silent company. _

_ Sherlock turned sharply, Harry almost crashing straight into his chest. “I found something.” Sherlock’s usually pale skin was flushed pink, his eyes glittering near madly. “A-A room of sorts, shows up, random items-” He tripped over his words, brain going too fast for his tongue to catch up. “You have to, pace three times, pace and-and-”   
Harry gripped his shoulders. “Christ, Sherl, breathe! _

_ The taller boy paused, gulping in breaths before continuing. “Come with me.” _

_ And they were off once more. _

Sherlock twitched in his sleep. He rarely dreamed, but when he did it was all composed of memories he couldn’t erase.

_ ”It's not in any of the books.” Sherlock muttered excitedly, pacing in front of a blank wall. Harry watched him, mildly concerned for the other boys mental status. “It's never mentioned on any floor plans, but-here.” _

_A door materialized on the wall, and Sherlock gripped the handle, his free hand beckoning Harry forward. He opened the door._

Sherlock sat upright, waking before the dream, the memory, could continue. He didn’t want to remember what had happened in that room- _The Room of Requirement_ , his brain supplied-that night.

The night Sherlock ruined his only friendship.

The detective rolled over, grabbing a cigarette from the box he kept hidden in a nightstand near his bed.

He needed to forget about Potter.

~

He couldn’t bloody forget about Potter.

It seemed every time he left the flat, every time he even turned on the telly, there were flashes of dark skin and darker hair, of bright green eyes and lightning. 

Sherlock was shaken up, badly. Even John had noticed at this point, attempting to ‘casually’ ask questions, but the doctor was anything but subtle.

“So, about that Malfoy bloke…”

“So, um, what school what it that you went to?”

“You never did tell me what a Muggle was.”

Sherlock had taken to staying in his room, barely even tempted out by cases. Manslaughters, bank robberies, hell, even a double homicide went without Sherlock even opening his door. “I’m sure even Scotland Yard can solve _that_."

He could hear John sighing, a hitch of breath as though he were going to say something, then footsteps, fading away as the doctor gave up.

Sherlock burrowed further into his comforter, desperately attempting to tune out the ever-present sounds of London.

_ Damn Potter. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god you guys, I am so sorry. It's been forever since I updated, but life has really been catching up to me, and mental illness is a bitch. However, I'll try to update more frequently, but I can't promise anything.  
> Sorry guys.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is fed up.

Back in his own home, Harry James Potter was miserable.

“You know, he never even told me why he left.”

“Mmhmm.” Draco hummed, turning another page in his book.

“He just disappeared.”

“I know.”

“I found him in a magazine, Draco.”

“I was there, love.”

“Why did he do that?”

Harry rolled over on their green couch, shoving his face into a pillow. He missed Sherl, damnit, he was once one of the the Gryffindors best friends. Then he just up and left, with no explanation. Just...gone.

Draco, however, had heard this exact same conversation at least fifty times in the past two weeks alone. “Love, you may just have to leave it. He obviously doesn’t want to see you.” Harry’s eyes flashed, and the blonde suddenly remembered exactly why his husband was a Gryffindor.

“I’ll bloody make him, then. And he can talk to me like a damn adult.” Harry rolled off the couch, springing to his feet and rifling through the cushions. “Draco, where’s my wand?”

Draco had it. “What are you planning?”

“Wand. Now.”

“Harry…”

“Draco.”

Draco gave him the wand. Harry grinned, obviously pleased with himself, before shrugging on his jacket.

“I’m going to go talk with Sherlock Holmes, and he is going to damn well listen to me.” The raven announced, before vanishing with a loud crack.

Draco blinked at the spot his husband was, once, twice, before shrugging and picking up his book once more. 

His idiotic husband knew how not to get caught anyway.

~

John, who had been attempting to make stir-fry, jumped and nearly dropped everything when he heard a loud _CRACK!_ coming from the front of 221B. Instincts on full alert, he snuck into his room to grab his gun before investigating.

“Ah, hello again. This is awkward.” John whirled around when he heard the voice behind him, aiming at...Potter? Potter looked down the barrel with a look of irritation, a long stick in his hand. “Oh, really? Fine. _Expelliarmus!_ ”

John froze as suddenly his only defense was yanked from his hands by some unseen force, and the ash-blonde stiffened in preparation to lash out. Then Potter spoke again.

“Sorry, I really am. _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”

And John couldn’t move, hands forced to his sides, and he was falling, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. He could hear the footsteps coming from Sherlock’s room, and Potter shifted as the detective came into the room.

“Sherlock; we need to talk.”

“Do we now?” John mentally grinned at the icy tone. Sherlock was _furious_. “Because the way I see it, you Apparated into my home, threaten and freeze my flatmate, then demand I speak. Release John or I promise you I’ll beat you in yet another duel.”

A sigh, then Potter whispered something and John sprang up on the floor, decking the taller man directly in the jaw. Sherlock watched in faint amusement as John screamed. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT YOU DID TO ME?”

Harry seemed shocked, but recovered quickly. “Why don’t you ask Sherl, hmm?” He fired back, green eyes glinting in vindictive pleasure. John slowly turned to Sherlock, only having to raise an eyebrow in question.

Sherlock gulped.

“John, there’s really no way to sugarcoat this.”

“Don’t, then. You haven’t told me anything, anything that’s been going on. So tell me.”

“I’m...I’m a wizard.”

Silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I am so sorry. It's been a month and I come back with this mess. I've had no motivation lately, but I'm trying to fight through. I'm sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Harrys break-in

_ ”I’m a wizard.” _

_ Silence. _

“What the everloving fuck.”   


No, that wasn’t what John meant to say, he wanted to ask how, if Sherlock was high, what the hell he was talking about. Breathing deeply, the ash-blonde tried again.

“What the fucking shit?”   


Nope, not quite.

Potter, meanwhile, had sat down and seemed to be enjoying himself as he watched John desperately flounder for words. Sherlock on the other hand, looked somewhere between guilty and terrified.

“John…” For once, the dark-haired detective had nothing left to say.

“Need help?” Potter offered, amusement still coloring his tone.

John turned to him, fingers itching to reach for a gun. “You keep your fucking mouth shut.” Potter raised his hands in surrender, settling back onto the couch, content to watch.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock near-whispered.

“You’re sorry? _You’re sorry?_ ” John whirled back around, heat rushing to his face with anger. “A strange man comes into our bloody home, _attacks me_ , reveals you think you’re a bloody _wizard_  of all things, and YOU’RE SORRY?” The doctor knew he was hysterical at this point, but god, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “HAS EVERYTHING BEEN A DAMN LIE?”

Sherlock recoiled as though John had physically hit him. “No! Don’t be daft John, I didn’t lie about everything-”   


“Right, sorry, don’t mind me being a tad daft over here.” John let out a laugh, too shrill, too fake.

“That’s not what I-”   


“I. Don’t. Care.” John whirled once more, grabbing his coat and heading towards the door. “I’m leaving. I don’t know or care where. And if I get back, Potter better be bloody well gone.” With that, he stormed out, letting the door slam behind him with satisfactory gusto.

Sherlock stared after him helplessly, a wordless plea still sitting on his lips. He felt a movement beside him, the familiar warmth of Har- _Potter_ , a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” The once-Gryffindor murmured, following Sherlock's gaze to the shut door. “I didn’t know he’d react so-”   


“Get out.” The mask was back up, the detective replacing the human.

“What?”   


“ _Leave_.”   


And Potter left, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts once more.

~

A wizard. A proper, wand waving, bat-crazy wizard.

John couldn’t believe it.

Everything-everything had been a lie. The deductions, the crime scenes, the respect, the _awe_ , it was all fake...just a magic trick. God, even how he felt about Sherlock…

Could it really be a magic trick? Could the flutter in his stomach whenever the detective smiled, the lightheaded rush when he heard the deep laugh, could it really be fake?

_ ”I’m a wizard.” _

The ash-blonde shook his head, continuing his stroll-angry stalk, more like-down the darkened streets of London.

It was all a lie.

Sherlock Holmes was a bloody lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month and a half.  
> Oh my god you guys.  
> I'm so sorry.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John eventually returns to the flat, and the boys talk. Well, sort of.

All the deductions, the brilliance, the everything-it was a lie.

God, was anything with that man real? The friendship, the mutual support? The warmth in Johns gut when Sherlock smiled, the muddled feeling in his head when the other laughed?

It had to be fake, didn’t it?

John had been out for what felt like hours, might even be according to the darkened sky, but the swirl of thoughts in his head had yet to cease.

And to think, he had spent years with this-this lying bastard, this conniving son of a-

“Are you still out here? Blimey.”

John whirled around to face none other than Potter, the latter having lost his proud look from earlier and now sporting a rather sympathetic one.

Bastard.

“You get the hell away from me.” John growled out, hand reaching towards where he kept his gun. Potter ignored him, instead choosing to look towards the sky.

The raven sighed. “This is why I never visit London. You can barely see the bloody stars in these big cities.”

“Are you deaf or something? Get away from me!”

“No.” Potter turned to face John, green eyes suddenly hard and cold. “You’re being a twat, Watson. Sherlock is a right mess right now, and you’re out here pacing.”

“He deserves it.” John spat, but he couldn’t help the rising anxiety in his stomach. When Sherlock was upset, he used. And when he used…

No, it wasn’t his problem anymore.

_ Yeah, real convincing Watson. You don’t feel bad at all. _

Bugger it all.

“If you ever show up again, I will not hesitate to blow your brains out. Deal?” Without waiting for an answer, John turned on his heel and stalked in the direction of Baker Street. 

~

Harry only smiled.

This could be fixed.

~

It was ten past eleven when John reached the flat, throwing open the door with little consideration towards Mrs. Hudsons shriek. He stormed up the stairs. “I swear Sherlock, if you’re high I will not hesitate to hit you.” 

Sherlock looked up from his position on the floor with a scowl. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

Ignoring the relief that rushed through him, John rolled his eyes, standing with his arms crossed. “Have you ever cursed me?”

“Excuse me?”   


“Have. You ever. Cursed me?”   


Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. “I haven’t even used magic since I left that world, John. It’s been near fifteen years.”   


Now John gave into the relief, sagging slightly, but not giving up his defensive position. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   


“It’s illegal to tell a Muggle.”   


“You never told me what that meant.”   


“A non-magical person.”   


“Since when do you care about the law, anyway?”   


Sherlock smirked for a moment. “I don’t, but I knew you would react poorly.”   


John sighed, sitting on the couch, pretending there wasn’t an apology on the tip of his tongue. It could wait. “Not if I wasn’t frozen by bloody magic first.”   


“Yes you would have.”   


Yeah, he probably would have. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.” John stood, turned, and over his shoulder called, “Go to bed soon.”   


He could hear Sherlocks sigh. He knew he was forgiven.

Still a bloody bastard though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm sorry. This is late. My life is hectic rn for reasons I won't force you to read, but if you really want to know just ask, I'll tell you. Sorry again.


	12. chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are still tense at the flat, and more about Sherlocks relationship with Harry is revealed

The next day was, to be blunt, awkward as all hell. John still couldn’t wrap his head around all that had happened in the past 24 hours, and Sherlock was pointedly acting as though nothing was wrong.

It only took until noon for John to snap.

“Are we going to talk about this or not?” He burst out suddenly as he was making tea. Sherlock sat from where he had been lazing on the couch.

“Talk about what?” “Don’t be daft.” John persisted, frustration clear in his tone. “You. You’re a wizard. You clearly have some sort of past with Potter. I want to know what.”

Sherlock stayed quiet.

John groaned. “You know what? Forget it. Bloody forget it.” He turned to head out, not really knowing where he would go, when he was stopped by Sherlocks oddly quiet voice.

“He was my best friend.”

John froze. Best friend? Sherlock was barely capable of dealing with friends as an adult, it was odd to imagine a teenage Sherlock having the capability to make a best friend.

Sherlock continued. “He was my best friend.” His voice was louder now, void of any human emotions. “And he left me. For Draco Malfoy, the boy who made both my and Har-Potters lives a living hell since our first year at school. I’m sure you have seen schoolyard bullies in action, imagine that with a variety of hexes and curses on hand. Yet Potter chose him.” He ended on a petulant note, sounding somewhat like a child who was forced to share his favorite toy. John stood still by the door, mind fighting on how to react.

“I’m...I’m sorry.” “Don’t be.” Sherlock stood. “I don’t want your pity, it’s useless to me.” And with that he was gone.

John sat, contemplating this new information. It explained why Potter still cared, and why he was able to get such a fierce reaction from the usually stoic detective. It also explained why Malfoy and Sherlock had been so poisonous to each other at the police station.

But there had to be more to it then what Sherlock was sharing. He may not be a genius, but John knew when Sherlock was keeping things from him, especially when it involves the emotions Sherlock so carefully hid away. 

But what else could Sherlock possibly be hiding? Did something other than Malfoy drive them apart? Was Mycroft to blame? Was Sherlock in love with the poor bloke or something?

Oh…

OH.

Oh dear.

Sherlock was in love with Harry Potter. And, possibly, still is.

Dear god, John Watson had gotten himself dropped into the middle of a shitty romance novel.

What the hell did he do now?

~

_ The Room of Requirment. He had found it and shown Harry. He had ruined everything. _

_ Ruined, ruined. _

_ Ruined everything. _

_ They were standing inside, marvelling, taking turns wishing up whatever they could think of. Books, potions, clothing, anything and everything. Then Sherlock turned to face Harry, and the breath left his body in a long sigh. _

_ Harry was beaming, a golden glow seeming to light up his dark skin from the outside in. His smile...it was a work of art in itself, lighting up the entire vast room. His emerald eyes were lit, sparkling even, and everything about him was just...beautiful. _

_ He was so beautiful.  _

_ He noticed Sherlocks stare, asked what was wrong, snapping Sherlock out of the trance he found himself ensnared in. _

_ And Sherlock realized he had let himself go too far. _

_ He was in too deep, he was trapped by this perfect, beautiful boy, caught in a trap. His emotions were getting the best of his, his carefully crafted masks falling to pieces as he watched. _

_ Sherlock Holmes was in love. _

_ He withdrew. _

_ “I’m sorry.” _

_And with that, Sherlock ran out of the room, leaving a very confused Harry behind._

~   
_ Harry didn’t know what happened. Sherlock was avoiding him, had been ever since that night in the mysterious room. Suddenly the other teen had just shut down, as though turning off every emotion he had, before turning and fleeing. Now he was turning in the halls when he saw Harry, not showing up to classes they had together, not even going to Quidditch games anymore. _

_ That was the year he started dating Draco Malfoy. _

_ Malfoy had mostly left him alone that year, aside from a few barbs in the hall, but even those were increasingly rare. And somehow, he was the one to find Harry alone in a deserted classroom, waiting for Sherlock to show. _

_ (He never did.) _

_ Malfoy was the one who comforted him, who listened to his rants, who slowly but surely became Harrys friend. _

_ Then they started dating. _

_ Sherlock left Hogwarts that year. _

_ Harry barely even noticed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I can't say I'm going to update too often, so I'm sorry in advance for the sporadic updates. Thank you to those who stuck around.


	13. chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are slowly returning to normal at 221b

Sherlock Holmes was in love with Harry Potter.

It had been a while since John's little discovery, but time was not making it any less weird. Possibly the weirdest part was trying to keep it from Sherlock himself. The detective usually saw right through John’s lies, but this time he didn’t seem to.

Must be distracting, Potter being back, John thought.

But that wasn’t all that was racing through the genius’ busy brain.

~

Memories were flooding back in, memories he had long since suppressed, memories of magic and Harry and the library and transfiguration and charms and-Sherlock shook his head from where he sat, alone in his room. He needed to stop thinking of such ridiculousness, he left all that behind him for a reason.

Yet, in the first time in years, he missed it.

He missed the rush of magic going through his body when he cast a spell, he missed trying to discover the logic behind magic that was never there, he missed his potions class so akin to chemistry, he missed the noise of the Great Hall and the silence of the library. God, he missed all of it.

It was ridiculous, and stupid, and enormously out of character for the cold detective, but he found himself regretting that he left.

But it was too late to regret it.

He had made his decision, and he refused to leave the life he had built up in London. 

He refused to leave John. John, who barely understood magic. John, who was still completely unaware to the underground society of magic. John, who was everything Potter wasn’t and more.

Sherlock sat on his bed, head in his hands.

Since when had his life become this difficult?

~

When had John's life become this strange?

His genius sociopathic lunatic of a roommate was also a wizard. He was also gay, and in love with another wizard. Whom he claimed to hate, and whom John himself disliked. 

Well, this was just a disaster waiting to happen. 

John sighed, setting up the kettle to make tea. 

What a mess.

~

_ Knock knock _

John went to the door, for once hoping it would be another case, just to regain a sense of normality. Praying for anything other than Harry bloody Potter, he opened the door, tensed in anticipation of the wizard.

But no, it was a woman in her late 20s with teary eyes and blonde hair. “I think my husband's cheating on me.” She rushed out, hands clasped in front of her. 

John blinked. “I’ll get Sherlock.”

~

Sherlock surveyed the woman, legs crossed, hands held together as his bright eyes stared at her in a seemingly aimless way. 

“Please.” The woman said after a brief silence. She opened her mouth to continue, then shut it, having nothing else to say.

“Boring.” Sherlock said abruptly. He stood, robe flaring out behind him as he spun and walked away. John called after him, but got no response.

Sighing, he turned back to the now-crying woman. “Er, tea?”

~

“You’re an arsehole.”

“Is that new?”

Sighing once more, John sat, having had just escorted the woman from their apartment after telling her to just talk to her husband. “No, it’s not new, it’s just a bloody pain is all.” The ash blonde rolled his eyes.

“Sorry.” Sherlock said shortly.

“Really?”

“No, not at all.”

Well, things were sort of going back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, the endgame is NOT Harry/Sherlock. I know that it looks like thats where its headed, but keep in mind John isnt the most reliable narrator in the world. I'll try to update soon as possible, love you guys!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock plots his revenge against Harry for exposing the magical world to John

Sherlock Holmes’ life was in complete, utter disarray.

For once, he had no idea what his plan was, how everything was going to fall together, what was going to happen next.

Potter had always been too unpredictable, that's what drew Sherlock to him in the first place.

John had gone out to get groceries or something, so Sherlock was taking to time to think, stalking through the flat as he threw things at random, attempting to decipher all the thoughts running rampant through his head.

Potter had made his move in their little game, for it was mos definitely a game now. He had revealed everything to John, the one constant in Sherlock's life, throwing everything off balance and to the wind.

Now, it was Sherlock's turn.

His immediate plan was to do something to Potter himself. But no, that was too obvious, too petty. He had to expose the other, in an imitation almost, ruining something he held dear.

Ruining…Malfoy.

But they were married, Malfoy was bound to know everything about Potter by this point, everything except one thing, there had to be one thing.    
But what?

Sherlock flopped down onto the couch, hands pressed together, eyes glued to the ceiling as he left the world around him and went into his mind palace, opening the door labelled “Harry Potter” and beginning to sift through all the complicated emotions and memories there.

Until he found the memory from the first meeting.

_ ”Signs point to abuse from whatever family you stay with, long-time abuse.” _

The one thing Potter never spoke of, the one thing he would never share, not even with his damned husband.

His family life.

Making a decision, a decision that John would most certainly scold him for, Sherlock stood, going into his room to get his wand. He laid the wand flat in his palm, leaning close to whisper five simple words.

“Point me to Draco Malfoy.”

~

Draco Malfoy was having a perfectly lovely day. His darling husband had woken him with a kiss and a cup of coffee before heading off to his job as an Auror, leaving Draco with the house to himself. He had successfully cleaned up the bedroom and kitchen for the first time in months, honestly, the place was a mess with Harry living in it, and he had just sat down with a book and a cup of tea when he heard a knock at the door.

He frowned.

No one knocked anymore, their few friends would simply Floo in whenever they seemed fit. Draco grabbed his wand, proceeding with caution to the front door, opening it to find a pleased-looking Sherlock standing at the front door.

“Hello, Malfoy.” He began, adjusting his scarf. “Has Potter ever told you about his lovely relatives?”

“No.” Draco frowned. He didn’t know where this was going.

Sherlock smirked, opening his mouth.

~

Harry’s day was already going to shit. He had three different cases to work on, his collaegues were neing arseholes, and his office was a bloody mess. So when he got home, he expected some sympathy, damnit.

Apparating directly into the living room, he walked into the kitchen where he knew his Draco would be, ready to bitch as the blonde listened sympathetically.

Instead, he got Sherlock sitting there with a cat-who-got-the-cream smirk and Draco with an expression getting steadily darker and darker.

“Harry James Potter.” Draco said, voice scarily low and calm. “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! My school year starts tomorrow, so my updates are going to be less and less frequent as I get busier. However, I refuse to abandon this fic, so I'll continue to write it throughout the year. Thank you for being patient with me.


	15. chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Sherlock get into a fight as Sherlock gets his revenge

Sherlock watched gleefully as Potter glanced fearfully between the two, before, “Draco, I’ve had a really long day, can we just-”

“There isn't a chance in hell I’m delaying this conversation, Potter, so sit your sorry arse down and tell me exactly what those filthy Muggles did to you.” Draco spat, body coiled as a snake about to attack.

Potter sat, face rapidly paling, sending a glare towards Sherlock.

Oh, this was going to be _fun_.

~   
How. Dare. He. 

Harry silently seethed as Sherlock sat there, smirk growing as Draco bitched about ‘how /dare/ you not tell me this, this is a huge part of you I didn't know, do you not trust me with this or something, Potter, are you even /listening/ to me!’

“Yes, love, I’m listening.” Harry said tiredly, shooting another glare at the detective watching.

“Don’t look at him when I’m talking to you!”

Draco waved his hand in front of Harry's face, redirecting the attention to himself. “I’m beyond serious Potter, why the hell didn’t you tell me this?”

“It doesn’t matter love, it's just-”

“OF COURSE IT MATTERS YOU BLOODY OAF!”

And with that Draco stood, pointing a dramatic finger at his husband. “This conversation is not over.” He hissed, sweeping from the room.

Harry was up in a second, grabbing Sherlock's collar and hauling him up against the wall.

“What the fuck, Sherlock?”

Sherlocks smirk dropped. “You ruin my life, I ruin yours, Potter.” He snarled, shoving the wizard back.

“I ruined your life? Really? All I did was tell a Muggle about your life! It's your own damn fault for lying to him!”

“I left all that behind me for a reason. Its ridiculous, and backwards, and most wizards don't have an ounce of logic to claim. I don't wish to be one anymore.”

“You loved magic, don't you bloody lie to me! I was your best friend! I knew you better than anyone!”

“Knew. Past tense. You don't know me anymore, and you have no right to burst into my life and unravel everything.”

“WELL MAYBE I WOULDN'T HAVE TO IF YOU DIDN'T BLOODY LEAVE ME!”

A thick silence hovered in the air. Potters chest was heaving, his face red and his eyes glittering viciously. Sherlock was standing stock still, face an emotionless mask, eyes cold and dark.

“I had to leave.” Sherlock broke the silence. 

“Why?” Harry asked.

“Does it matter? You chose him.” Sherlock turned and Disapparated, leaving Potter alone and confused.

~

“Where have you been?” Was the greeting Sherlock received as he walked into the flat. There John stood, one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed, looking like an angry father about to reprimand his teenager.

“Visiting an old friend.” Sherlock answered before flopping onto the couch. 

John rolled his eyes. “So, by that, you mean you caused some trouble.” He knew Sherlock all too well.

The detective smiled to himself. “Perhaps.”

John scoffed, and walked to his room, not wanting to know what the other man had been up to. Sherlock continued to lay on the couch, satisfied with what he had done.

Revenge was sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlocks kinda a dick, isn't he? Oh well. I have most of the next chapter written, so I should post again in about a week or so. Thanks for reading!


	16. chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John confronts Sherlock. Harry and Draco discuss him.

Meanwhile, John sat in his room, wondering if he should ever confront Sherlock about his revelation.

Obviously it was mentally unhealthy to be pining for so long, especially if one pretends to hate the person they're pining for, but on the other hand Sherlock may clam up entirely and simply ignore John.

But if Sherlock was at the point where he was willing to cause trouble in Potter's life…

John made up his mind. He would talk to Sherlock tomorrow. 

~   
“Sherlock?”

“What?” Sherlock didn't look up from where he was dissecting a human tongue on the kitchen counter. John cringed a little, but didn't leave.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

Sherlock still didn't look up. “Then talk.”

John sighed. Sherlock was feeling difficult. Well, time to be blunt. “Are you in love with Potter?”

There was a wet squelching noise as the tongue hit the floor, Sherlock freezing. It would’ve been rather funny if not for the seriousness of the situation.

“Pick that up please.” John sighed. Sherlock didn't,  merely turning to him, eyes boring into his own.

“I’m not in love with Potter.” Sherlock seemed to want to say more, but cut himself off, turning back to the remains of the tongue.

“But?” John asked.

Sherlock stiffened, his spine abruptly straightening, and John knew he was turning off any form of emotion he had. “I...used to be.”

John went quiet. He had been partially right, at least. “Is that why you hate him so badly? You loved him, but he chose that other bloke?”

Sherlock said nothing. John pressed on.

“Is that why you left the wizard world?”

Sherlocks shoulders tensed further and he abruptly picked up the tongue, disposing of it and leaving the room without a single word. John flinched as he heard the door slam shut. 

Well, he must have been right, then.

~

Meanwhile, at their own home, Draco and Harry had finally wrapped up any and all questions related to the Dursleys and moved on to an equally concerning matter; why Sherlock was out to get Harry.

“I just don't understand why he's doing this! We used to be so close…” Harry trailed off, eyes on the floor. Draco, who had heard this same story millions of times, sighed and settled in. “It was whatever happened in that damned Room and Requirement, and I don't know what! And now he hates me!”

“Have you ever considered he was just scared?” Draco asked cautiously. 

“Scared? What on earth would he have been scared of? I wasn’t going to hurt him!” Harry fired back, quickly getting defensive.

The blonde sighed. “Emotions, Harry. You know how he was, probably still is. He cared about you, and it probably scared the hell out of him. Now he’s still scared, and yelling at him like you did probably made it worse.” Draco paused, before adding “You oaf.” for good measure. 

Harry stared at his husband. He’d never considered that...he knew Sherlock was bad with emotion, hell, he never saw the boy express any when they were friends, but he never thought the other was genuinely scared of them.

This whole thing was just getting way too out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schools hectic. Life is hectic. I've been kicked from my theatre program. Everything is slowly going to hell. I'm going to try and wrap up this story as soon as possible, so I'm sorry if things get a little rushed from here on out. I'm just done with this plotline.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry apologizes, and certain secrets come to light

Harry sighed to himself.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

Bracing himself, he knocked on the door of 221B, having been ushered up by an enthusiastic landlady that reminded him of Molly Weasley.

He waited for a few moments in silence, before knocking again, nerves creeping through his mind, when the door suddenly swung open and he came face-to-face with John Watson.

“Hello-oh.” Watson's eyes narrowed. “It's you.”

“Yes, its me.” Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. “May I come in?”

Watson didn’t move an inch. “Why?”

Harry sighed again. He really didn't want to do this, but it was either this or sleeping on the couch for a month.

Mind you, he nearly picked the couch.

“I want to apologize.” He said firmly, green eyes locking into blue. “To the both of you, preferably.”

Watson looked him over, and deeming him truthful, silently stepping aside to let Harry in.

“Thank you.” The wizard said, walking inside. 

Watson looked at him, still distrustful. “I’ll go get Sherlock. Don’t touch anything.”

As Watson walked up the stairs, Harry reached out to poke a glass in a small rebellion, cursing as it fell and shattered. “ _Repairo_.” He whispered, setting the now-repaired glass back onto the counter right as Watson and Holmes walked in.

“Sherlock.” He greeted.

“Potter.”

Harry winced. Still mad, then.

“Look…” Harry trailed off, not sure how to continue. He was sorry, yes, but for what? For scaring Sherlock? For revealing their world to Watson? For threatening and harassing them both? Or was he just sorry that Sherlock was and still is such a twat? “I’m sorry. For everything.” That oughta cover it.

Watson seemed to relax a little, but remained slightly stiff, probably not entirely satisfied. SHerlock didn't even move.

“Are you really? Or did Malfoy make you apologize?” The detective drawled.

Harry cursed inwardly. “Ok, maybe it was his idea that I came here, but that doesn't change the fact that I was wrong. I had no right to reveal your secrets to Watson, and I had no right to Stun him or harass the two of you. However,” here he pointed an accusing finger at Sherlock, “you had no right to tell Draco about my personal business if it doesn't concern him!”

Watson sighed, sensing the impending argument.

“It may not have been my place, but he deserved to know.” Sherlock said in mock sympathy. “Honestly Harry, has no one ever told you to talk about your problems?”

Harry sneered, all attempts at civility flying out the window. “Says you, Mr. Running-Away-From-My-Problems. You get scared of something involving us, and what do you do? Not talk about it, not move on, but bloody run away from your entire world!”

“I had my reasons.” Sherlock said coldly, something flashing behind his eyes. 

“And what exactly were they?”

“I don't have to tell you.”

“Don't make me break out the Legilimency.”

“You wouldn't dare, you were always horrible at it anyways.”

“Are you ignoring the fact that I could've improved, Holmes?”

“It's highly unlikely.”

“For fucks sake Sherlock, tell him or I will!” Silence rang out as Watson made his threat, fists curled and shoulders tense. “You’re being a child, and you know as well as I do that it’s not bloody healthy to keep the same thing cooped up for this many years! So tell him or I will.” Watson looked back at Harry. “And you, don’t be a twat about it or I’ll see how many bullets it takes to kill a wizard.” He looked back at Sherlock once more. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

He started to make his way to the stairs when Sherlock’s voice rang out, surprisingly small.

“Please stay.”

Harry stared between the two, struck with a sudden realization.

Sherlock was in love with Watson.

While Harry mulled this over, Sherlock turned to him, face passive and blank. “Potter...Harry.” The detective began. “I…” He hesitated, looking over to Watson, who nodded.  “I loved you.”

“You _what_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, thats out of the way, and I can finally focus on the main ship-Johnlock.


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sulks, and Harry panics. Draco has a plan.

“I loved you.” Sherlock repeated himself. “I loved you, so I ran. Are you happy now, Potter?” He turned and went upstairs, passing Watson who let out a deep sigh.

“I…” Harry trailed off, staring after Sherlock. He certainly hadn’t expected that.

Watson hit Harry with an unsettling look. “Potter, I know you're not about to confess you loved him back.” Harry opened his mouth, but Watson cut him off. “Don't try to defend yourself, I know it’s true. Just give him time to get over it, then you can make your case.” Watson turned to follow Sherlock up the stairs. “You know the way out.”

~

“Sherlock?” John knocked lightly on the door to Sherlock's room. Not hearing a response, he pushed the door open, only to see Sherlock lying on the floor, facing the ceiling, and unreadable expression on his pale face.

John sighed. This wasn’t going to be fun. “Are you alright?”

“What do you think?” Was the icy reply.

“Don’t be a dick Sherlock, I’m trying to help.”

“Well don’t.” Sherlock turned away from him with that last comment, facing the wall. John sighed again, giving up and leaving the room.

Sherlock would come to him eventually.

~

John was right, if just barely. It took Sherlock nearly a week before he left his room. A week of John leaving food outside his door, only to find it untouched the next morning. A week of turned-down cases and an increasingly frustrated Lestrade. A week of complete silence in the flat. Until Sherlock came downstairs, face a little thinner and coat a little baggier, dark circles around his eyes and a harsh expression on his face.

“Are you alright?” John ventured, nearly wincing at the glare Sherlock sent his way.

“Fine.” The answer was clipped, clearly a lie.

John didn’t push, knowing it would only make matters worse.

They’d get through this.

~

Meanwhile, Draco was going stir-crazy. 

It had been a week. A week since Harry had found out about Holmes’ old crush on him.

Draco frowned to himself. Ok, so it was a little more than a crush. But the point still stands.

Harry had been bloody moping for the past week, occasionally interrupting his own silence with little remarks about how stupid he was, how _blind_  he was. And frankly, Draco was sick of it.

“Enough!” He eventually snapped. 

Harry looked at him in shock, as though Draco were the crazy one.

“I have had to put up with your self-hatred too long Potter, don't think I won't hex it out of you! If you feel so bad, go bloody talk to the poor man!”

“I can't do that!” Harry said, aghast.

Draco was seriously itching to grab his wand. “And why not?”

“He was in _love_  with me! That's serious! And its Sherlock, bloody hell, so that was probably the first strong emotion he ever felt and I let him run away from it and oh god no wonder he hates me I'm probably the reason he cut himself off from the Wizarding World I ruined everything for him I fucking-”

“Harry!” Draco cut him off. Harry stared at him, despair in his eyes.” You're rambling, love. Come here.”  Harry walked over, letting the blond wrap his arms around him. “I’m sure he doesn't completely hate you.” Draco murmured into his husbands untameable hair. “And I'm sure he doesn't still love you, either. You just need to give him time.”

“Of course he doesn't still love me, he's in love with that Muggle bloke you insulted.”

“He's what?” Draco pulled back, interest clear in his eyes.

Harry caught on quick. “No. Definitely not.”

“Definitely yes.” Draco countered. “You want him to forgive you, right?”

“Of course, but-”

“Then let's help him out a little!” Something was sparkling in Draco's eye, and Harry couldn't help but feel that he was going to regret letting that little secret slip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Draco, what are you up to...


	19. chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock visits the Potter-Malfoy house and learns of Dracos plotting

One thing Sherlock didn’t expect when he woke up that morning was an owl at his window with a letter on its leg.

He got out of bed, put on his robe, and walked over to the window to let the barn owl into the room, grabbing at the letter and tearing it open.

_Sherlock,_

_ We need to talk. I’m not angry or disappointed with you or anything, I just want to talk to you. So does Draco. I dont know whats going through your mind right now, just consider coming over this evening, yeah?   
Hopefully I’ll see you soon. _

_Harry Potter_

Sherlock stared at the letter, contemplating ripping it into pieces.

Eventually he walked downstairs, letter in hand, and shoved it in John's face. “What do I do?”

John sighed, before taking the letter and reading it over. “I think you should go over.”

“Pardon?”

“Well he outright says he's not upset with you or anything, and I think it'll do you good to talk it over. Or just yell at him, I don't really care. As long as you're not just moping around here anymore.” John said casually, handing the letter back to his friend.

Sherlock frowned at the doctor, only to get ignored. Go over there? To Potter and Malfoys place? He couldn't do that, that would be ridiculous.

~

He ended up going over at around five o’clock in the afternoon.

John had all but shoved him out the door, demanding he go talk out his feelings or whatever. Sherlock didn't see what the big fuss was, but then again, John had always been better in these situations.

Straightening his spine, he rung the doorbell to the modestly sized house, waiting impatiently for the door to open.

It was Malfoy who ended up answering the door.

“You wanted to see me?” Sherlock drawled, expression cold.

Malfoy's face lit up, and he pulled Sherlock inside, near-slamming the door behind him. “Yes, yes we did.” He said, sounding inappropriately excited. 

“Sherlock! You’re here!” Potter called from upstairs, before bounding down with the same energy Sherlock remembered. He walked towards Sherlock ,putting a comforting hand on the detective's shoulder. “Don’t worry mate, we’re not here to do anything bad. Promise.”

“I could take you.” Sherlock sniffed, causing Potter to laugh loudly.

“I’m sure you could. Regardless, we’re here to help you!”

“Help me?” How absurd.

“Yes.” Malfoy announced, lips curling into a smirk. “We’re going to help you pull that Muggle bloke.”

~

Sherlock froze.

“Er, hello?” Potter called out, waving a hand in front of his face.

He didn't move.

Malfoy sighed, pulling out his wand. “Aguamenti.” He muttered lazily, dousing Sherlock in freezing cold water.

Sherlock jumped back, looking somewhat like a ruffled cat as he glared at Malfoy, who merely smirked in response.

“Pardon me.” Sherlock began icily. “But I believe I must have heard you wrong.”

“Nope!” Potter said cheerfully. “You’re in love with Watson! I want to help, to, you know, to make up for being a massive prick.”

“I’m not in love with John.” Sherlock insisted, heading towards the door.

Malfoy and Potter easily blocked his way.

“Yes you are.” They said in sync.

Sherlock merely glared at him, before resigning himself to his fate, remembering Potters stubbornness all too well.

He wouldn't be able to get out of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're finally getting somewhere with the Johnlock, god bless america. I'm probably gonna try to wrap this up soon, I didnt mean for it to even get this long.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Malfoy reveal their plot; John has a crisis

“Operation get-that-Muggle-dick is underway!” Harry announced, grinning like the schoolboy he used to be.

Draco swatted his arm. “We certainly are not calling it that, Potter.”

“Why not? It’s accurate!”

Sherlock tuned out there mindless bickering, going over possibilities in his head. He could leave, but Potter may literally track him down and force him back. He could just go tell John the truth, that he was-disgustingly enough-in love, but that would just lead to rejection and heartache. He could let the two idiots in front of him continue plotting, but that would only lead to chaos and eventually his feelings would come to light.

So long story short, Sherlock was screwed.

~

John frowned, checking the clock once more. Sherlock had been gone for hours, which was causing all sorts of bad feelings in John's head. 

Potter, he knew to be sorry, that much had been obvious in his face when he was last over at the flat. But Malfoy? That man gave off all sorts of bad vibes, and John had been stupid enough to let Sherlock go alone to their house without a gun. What if that bloody wizard attacked him or something out of the foolish notion that Sherlock still loved his husband?

John shook his head. He was being ridiculous, Sherlock was a fully grown man who could take care of himself.

Why was he so worried about Sherlock anyway? The man had most certainly proven to be able to take care of himself before. 

Maybe John was just a worrier.

Obviously that was it. John just had a tendency to overthink things. Why else would he be so scared of something happening to Sherlock? They were just friends, friends don't get that worked up over each other.

_Friends don’t want to shag their friends either._ A nasty little voice sounded in John’s head, a voice he pushed to the side. He did not want to shag Sherlock Holmes. God, the very thought of it…

Sure, Sherlock was attractive, in an unconventional matter. High cheekbones, gorgeous eyes, tall and thin with dark curly hair and pale skin. Not that John ever thought about him that way, of course. Blokes can notice when another bloke is attractive without it being weird or gay.

Right?

Right.

John wasn’t gay.

He sat, pondering his own thoughts for a moment, before sighing and getting up to make a pot of tea.

He could have a crisis about his sexuality later. For now, he just wanted Sherlock to be home.

~

Sherlock ended up coming home at around one in the morning, hair disheveled and scarf wrapped tight around his throat. 

“What the hell kept you out so late?” John asked, not bothering to keep his tone light.

Sherlock turned the most peculiar shade of pink. “Nothing.” He murmured, trying to head up to his room.

John blocked the way. “Really? What did you and Potter talk about then?” 

Sherlock's blush deepened. 

John was really getting suspicious now.

“Absolutely nothing.” Sherlock said firmly, pushing past John.

John let him go, calling after him, “Don’t do anything stupid, Sherlock.”

He earned only silence as a response.

He sighed to himself.

What had Sherlock gotten himself into this time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot I had to update till late last night, so here's this rushed piece of crap


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock attempts to seduce John, and fails

Sherlock groaned mutley to himself as he glared at the parcel Potter had just sent him by owl. He knew what was inside...the first step of the plan(Sherlock refused to use the idiotic name for it).

The plan Sherlock had never fully agreed to, but here he was, holding a pair of damned panties in his hand. 

_”Let your pants fall the slightest bit so he sees the lace.” Draco instructed. “I don’t know about Watson, but it’s worked on every other man I’ve ever slept with. Especially Harry.”_ _   
_ _Harry hit him over the head, red showing up clear in his dark skin. “Draco!”_

Sherlock shook his head to be rid of the memory, focusing back at the task at hand. With no small amount of embarrassment, he slipped on the lacy undergarments, mentally noting how the dark purple looked against his pale skin.

Perhaps Malfoy wasn’t a complete idiot after all.

Hurrying into his dress pants shirt, Sherlock headed downstairs where he knew John would be waiting for him.

They had a new case. A seven, perhaps.

A Jane Doe had popped up in London, throat slit and completely drained of blood. Yet there was no blood on scene, or anywhere within one hundred yards.

The excitement was killing him.

Sherlock sped past an irritated looking John, not even grabbing his coat as he whisked the shorter man out the door and into a cab.

John looked a tad surprised at the lack of a trenchcoat and scarf, but Sherlock knew they would just be an obstacle to get around. It would be difficult enough to get his tight dress pants to slip enough to show the lace, but with his coat in the way it would've been impossible.

They didn't talk in the cab, merely sitting in companionable silence until they reached where the body had been located. Lestrade and Donovan were already there, Donovan with her usual pinched expression and Lestrade with a resigned one.

“And the freak finally made it.” Donovan drawled as Sherlock walked forward, John slightly behind him. “What took you so long?”

“I have better things to be doing than your job.” Sherlock quipped, and Donovan drew back as though she had been slapped.

“Why you little-”

“Ladies, ladies, that's enough now.” John said tiredly. He didn't feel like dealing with this shit today.

The two detectives sent each other one last glare before going back to the job.

“Widower.” Sherlock muttered as he examined the corpse. He squatted to get closer, smirking as he felt his shirt ride up in the back. Now John just had to look and…

A harsh inhale from the man in question. Sherlocks smirk grew.

“Two children, and a dog. No, cat. She was on her way to work when grabbed from behind.” Sherlock stood, turning to face John, whose pupils were ever-so-slightly dilated. _Success_. “Doctor, do you mind?”

“Er, yeah, of course.” It was John's turn to squat by the body now. “She looks about mid-thirties, I’d suppose, obviously the cause of death was a slit to the throat, but those bruises on her arms look fairly serious. I’d say she was dragged unwillingly, so the murderer didn't bother knocking her unconscious before taking her.”

“Good.” Sherlock praised lightly, turning to Lestrade. “What else have you found on her?”

Lestrade brought Sherlock over to where the meager evidence was being stored in plastic baggies. “Only a cell phone and a wallet.”

“Can you get the phone unlocked?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Send it to me when it's opened.” He turned to John, who still looked slightly confused and had clearly been staring at Sherlock's waistline. “Come along John.”

The two went home. The silence was slightly awkward, John refusing to look at Sherlock throughout the entire cab ride, and when they got home he immediately bolted up to his room.

Sherlock looked after him, irritated.

Malfoys plan didn't work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am shameless about putting Sherlock in panties. Absolutely shameless.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy has another idea. Sherlock improves it.

_ Potter and Malfoy, _

_ Your idiotic plan didn’t work. John ran off to his room. Try a bit harder next time, or I won’t bother coming to you for help. _

_ Sherlock _

Harry frowned at the curt letter, wordlessly handing it to Draco for him to read. 

Draco hummed slightly as his eyes scanned the paper that Sherlock had bothered to send by owl, though whether it was out of politeness or mockery the men couldn't tell.

Draco huffed lightly as he got to the end of the short letter. “I’d willingly bet my fortune that Watson's running was because he was hard.”

Harry snorted. “Probably. But you know Sherlock won't care.”

Draco huffed again and said nothing.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking.

“Draco.” Harry said slowly. “How was it I finally seduced you?”

“You didn’t. I fell for your bad one-liners and awkward stammering.” Draco drawled, causing Harry to pout.

“Well that won’t help Sherlock any.”

“Well it’s a good thing I have another idea, isn't it?”

Harry looked up to see that familiar, slightly evil gleam in his husbands eyes.

Oh boy.

~

“What is it this time?” Sherlock murmured to himself as an owl pecked loudly at his window.

He walked over to open it, allowing the owl inside his room where it immediately began pecking at his toast.

He scowled at it.

The owl didn’t care.

Scowling now at the letter in his hands, Sherlock opened it, scanning it then groaning in disgust.

_Flirt with someone. Make him jealous. No man wants somebody else touching what is “theres”. Its sad, but true, that men are horribly jealous. Especially men in denial._

_ Trust me on this one. _

_ Draco Malfoy _

Sherlock wasn’t a flirt. He wouldn’t even know where to start, short of simply imitating Irene, and who would he even bother flirting with? Lestrade was simply out of the question, Anderson was a disgusting prick, and there were no other male figures in his life besides John himself and Mycroft, which was absolutely disgusting to even consider.

Unless…

~

“John, we’re going to a gay club.”

“Pardon?” To his credit, John hardly even looked surprised.

“Gay club. We’re going. Wear something nice.”

“Sherlock, I’m glad you feel you could share your sexuality with me-”

“This isn't about me being gay, it's for an experiment. Go get dressed.”

“So you are gay then?”

“Go.”

Muttering something about ‘insane flatmates’ and ‘bloody experiments’, John went to his room. Sherlock went to his own, digging through his closet for something he wore for a case long ago and never discarded. 

Grinning to himself as he found them, Sherlock put together his outfit before going back downstairs to meet John, who was wearing a red button-up and some nicer jeans.

Johns eyes bugged out of his head as he took in Sherlock's appearance.

“Sherlock, what...are you wearing bloody leather trousers?”

Indeed he was. Black leather clung to his long legs and arse, matched with a too-tight purple button-up that left little to the imagination. 

He looked good.

“Of course, John, do keep up.” Sherlock drawled, heading outside to fetch a cab.

Judging by Johns reaction, this night would be _fun_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The leather trousers were a suggestion from the lovely cemm, though I don't think they intended for me to write it in, lmao


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The club scene cliche

The club was filthy and dark, a thick aroma of body odor and alcohol sitting heavy over the crowd like a fog, strobe lights streaking through the dark room and piercing the crowd, the bar light up like a Christmas tree off in the corner. Men and women and everything in between were clumped together, jumping and grinding to the beat and off the beat, no room in between their bodies for a hint of fresh air.

John was already overwhelmed and they had only just gotten inside. 

Sherlock, for his part, seemed entirely unruffled and even at ease.

John sighed. What the hell had he gotten himself into this time?

Sherlock disappeared into the crowd, leaving John alone, only to return a few moment later with two drinks in his hands. He handed one to John.

“Drink. Relax.”

So John drank.

The drink-vodka?-burned going down, a faint aftertaste of peach on his tongue as he felt himself forcibly relaxing. 

Maybe this wouldn't be too terrible after all. 

~

An hour and several drinks later, John found himself on the dance floor, a few feet away from Sherlock and being grinded on by some young twink with big eyes and blonde curls.

Yet, for some reason, his eyes couldn’t stray from Sherlock.

The detective was dancing, curls sticking to his face and neck from sweat, eyes slightly unfocused, skin tight shirt damp and hips gyrating in the air, legs and arse swivelling in those damned leather pants, looking like the very image of sex. John couldn't, would stop watching, completely ignoring the poor twink who was now trying to pull him in for a kiss.

A large, burly man stopped Sherlock ,asked him something John couldn't hear over the roar of the music and crowd, and the detective nodded, before the two started dancing. Sherlock caught John's eyes over the mans shoulder.

And he winked.

Johns blood ran cold, a pit growing like a tumor inside his stomach. All the drinks suddenly churned, and he felt as though he were going to be sick. But he kept watching, watching a Sherlock danced on the mysterious man, everything slightly out of focus and moving too slow to be a reality.

John wanted to look away, to focus on some pretty thing who could take his troubles away, but his eyes were glued on Sherlock. He suddenly became aware of his clenched fists, his lip bleeding where he had bitten into it, the blonde twink now staring at him in concern.

“Are you alright?” American, John dimly noted.

“I-I have to go.” John said, cutting through the crowd abruptly and storming out of the club.

Air, he needed air.

Leaning against the brick wall, John took a deep breath, the smoke-filled air burning his lungs and throat. The wall was rough against his back, and his head swam as he comprehended what he had just seen.

Sherlock. Sherlock grinding. Sherlock grinding on a man, a man who was fairly attractive and looked close to his age.

John shook his head, slumping to the ground. Of course Sherlock would want someone closer to his own age, someone young who could keep up with him.

Yet, John couldn't shake the feeling of anger. The burning pit in his stomach lingered at the thought of the other man touching what was his-

Wait, since when had he considered Sherlock his?

He slammed his head into the wall. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.

“John? Are you alright?” Shit, of _course_  Sherlock had followed him out here.

“I’m fine.” John snapped, the pit in his stomach growing. He couldn’t control the words coming out of his mouth. “Go back to dancing with your bloody boytoy.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. John sneered at him.

“You’re jealous.”

The word vomit came out. “Yes, yes I’m jealous. You know why Sherlock?” John didn't wait for a response before he continued. “I have always been there. Always, for you. Through the cases, throughout the drugs, through everything a normal person would run from, I've stayed. You are _mine_ , Sherlock. Fucking _mine_.” 

Sherlock was staring at him with a peculiar expression, one that made John want to punch him. So he did the next best thing, slamming Sherlock into the wall and shoving his tongue down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, John pulled his head out of his ass!  
> Well, sort of.  
> Also, I have no experience with jealousy, so please tell me if I wrote it wrong.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It finally happens, but then John panics

Sherlock froze.

John slowly pulled back, regret washing over him, until Sherlock's hoarse voice called out-

“Do that again.”

John couldn’t help but grin predatorily, his mind still on a loop of _mine mine mine_  as he kissed Sherlock again, teeth clashing and his hands reaching to grip Sherlock's hips, pinning him firmly against the brick wall as they kissed. Sherlock slowly began to reciprocate, imitating Johns motions in a clumsy manner that spoke clearly of his inexperience. John slowed down a bit, lazily thrusting his tongue into Sherlock's willing mouth.

They snogged for what felt like hours, though in reality was probably only a few moments.

John pulled back to look at Sherlock. Lips swollen, curls askew, the man looked well and truly fucked out.

“We should-” John tried to speak, but Sherlock pulled him back in impatiently, slamming their lips together in desperation. John pulled up all his self restraint and pulled away again.

“Sherlock. We should go back to the flat.”

Sherlock blushed, picking up on John's insinuation, and nodded his agreement.

~

The cab ride was long, longer than it had been to the club, the backseat thick with tension. Johns hand rested on Sherlock's thigh, hot and predatorial through the leather, a reminder of what was in store when they got back.

Sherlock couldn't help the blush rising in his cheeks, partially from the alcohol but mostly from his racing imagination.

John pinning him to the wall, wrapping Sherlock's legs around his waist. John pinning his arms to his side as he ravages his mouth. Johns lips against his. Johns tongue, Johns hands…

And they were back at the flat, John throwing a sum of money at the cabbie and practically dragging an all too willing Sherlock inside.

Just like in Sherlock's vivid daydream, John soon had him pinned to the wall, mouth clashing together in a kiss that John dominated almost too easily. Sherlocks legs were shaking so hard he had to grip John's shoulders for support, leaning all his weight against the wall as John bit into his lower lip.

This was a bad idea, they had both drunk too much, this could go so badly...

Sherlock whimpered and gave in.

From then on it was a blur, a beautiful blur of hands and tongues and clothes being shed. An ecstatic blur of sensation and feeling and whispered “I love you”s.

They fell asleep afterwards, entangled in each other's arms.

~

John woke up with a throbbing headache and no recollection of what had happened the night before.

Where was he…? This wasn’t his room, but it certainly looked familiar. He was naked too, and he could definitely feel a body next to him, probably also naked.

Damn, he hated drunken hook ups. The awkward morning stage, the even more awkward goodbyes.

Wait, was that a trench coat hanging over that chair?

Oh no.

_Oh no._

With a feeling of dread pooling in his stomach, John turned over, only to come face-to-face with all too familiar black curls and a pale back.

_Sherlock._

Panic rose in his throat. Christ, he slept with Sherlock Holmes. His _best_ _friend_.

As silently as he could, John crept up out of the bed, careful not to disturb the still sleeping detective.

Making sure Sherlock hadn't woken, John left the room, grabbing his clothes strewn about as he went.

Hopefully, Sherlock wouldn't remember last night either.

It wasn't like this could ever be more than a hook up, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damnit John, why are you like this.  
> This is my first kissing scene, so please give feedback!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds out John left, all is not well

Sherlock woke up with a headache, a dull pain in his lower region, and an empty bed. His mind being as it was, he could remember every amazing detail of the night before.

So why wasn’t John in the bed anymore?

Sherlock paused for a moment, frowning at the empty spot beside him, before wrapping his sheet around himself and heading into the kitchen where he figured John would be making tea.

He was right.

John, clad only in boxers and a T-shirt, was making tea with his brow furrowed. 

“You look troubled.” Sherlock said to announce his presence, making John jump and burn his hand on the kettle. 

Cursing, he turned to face Sherlock, holding his hand. “Don't sneak up on me like that!”

“And defensive. Something's bothering you.” Sherlock tilted his head and squinted.

Johns face was turning steadily redder and redder. Then it hit Sherlock.

“You don't remember last night.”

“Look, Sherlock, it was a mistake, we were both drunk. End of story.” John turned back to the kettle.

“But you don't really think that.” Sherlock challenged, leaning forward. “You’re just saying that. Why?”

“For once, Sherlock, just drop it.” John said tightly.

Sherlock didn't drop it. “What aren't you telling me?”

“I SAID DROP IT!”

Silence rang through the kitchen. John froze, realizing he lost his temper. Sherlock merely stared at him, aghast, and was that fear in his eyes?

“I-I need to go.” Abandoning his tea, John left the kitchen, grabbing his coat and walking straight out the front door. 

Sherlock stared after him silently, before abruptly standing up and going back to his own room.

He had a letter to write.

~

_ Potter and Malfoy, _

_ Jealousy worked. You don’t need the details, however I will provide. _

_ We went to a club. We danced. John got jealous as I danced with another man. We went home, and I imagine you know what happens next. _

_ Yet, this morning, he seems odd. He’s claiming it was a mistake, but he’s clearly lying. Whatever he’s hiding, I can’t deduce it, not without further evidence. _

_ The point to this is, your overall plan failed. John Watson is no closer to being mine than Potter was all those years ago. _

_ Don't bother responding. _

_ Sherlock Holmes _

~

Draco read the letter with a raised brow and pursed lips.

Sherlock said not to respond...but since when had a Malfoy ever listened to anyone?

_Sherlock, you idiot._

_ Can you not ‘deduce’ the problem here? It’s obvious he loves you; Harry told me how protective he was of you. How betrayed he felt when he found out you were one of us. _

_ Talk to him, for the love of Merlin. I’m willing to believe he thinks you don’t love him back. Considering what Potter has told me of you, I can assume you fed him some line too long ago about being married to your work.  _

_ If I’m right, and I know I’m right, talk to him. If it doesn't work out, blame me and Harry, fine. _

_ If it does? _

_ Well, we’ll discuss that later, now won't we? _

_ Draco Malfoy _

~

Sherlock looked at the letter with a peculiar expression. Loved him? Why would anyone, especially John, love him? He was a sociopath. People don't love sociopaths.

~

John didn’t come back until late that night. Neither him or Sherlock said a word to each other as he went upstairs to go to bed.

All was quiet in 221B Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry for this angst. It's not even that angsty what am I on talking about


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John runs into Harry and Draco

The next day went by in silence.

And the next day.

And the next day.

Sherlock let out a disgruntled sigh as John avoided his attempted eye contact yet again. This had gotten far too out of hand.

Why the hell had he trusted Potter and Malfoy of all people?

~

John, meanwhile, was dying.

Not literally, of course. Metaphorically.

He hadn’t spoken to Sherlock in three and a half days. When you’re in love with someone, that’s a damn long time.

God, he felt stupid. First he slept with the genius, which was bad enough, then he had to go and yell at him? What kind of prat move was that? He hadn’t been this much of a jerk since his college days of one night stands and meaningless flirting.

It all was because John was stupid enough to get drunk and sleep with Sherlock. Why the hell did he do that? He knew that Sherlock didn’t love him back; the man said it himself, he was married to his work.’

John resisted the urge to bang his head into a nearby wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Standing up suddenly, ignoring Sherlocks look of piqued curiosity, he left the flat.

Going for a walk might clear his head, right?

Right…

~

John had been walking around London for the better part of an hour, and his head wasn’t any more or less clear. His thoughts were still muddled and confusing as ever.

So, he ended up being in love with Sherlock. Lovely. Perfect.

Sherlock wasn’t in love with him, that much was obvious.

They had gotten drunk and slept together.

John panicked and yelled.

Sherlock now most likely thought he was a massive prick.

John sighed to himself. How did he always manage to get into these situations?

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

John looked up sharply at the familiar voice, only to find Potter and Malfoy standing nearby, Potter with a warm smile and Malfoy with a bored expression.

“What do you want?” John asked, not quite as angrily as he had hoped for.

Potter moved closer, putting an unwanted hand on John's arm. John shrugged it off. Potters smile faltered, but didn't leave his face. “We heard about your, erm, boy troubles. We want to help.”

“I don't. I want to hex your idiotic Muggle arse.” Malfoy sniffed. “Honestly, a blind man could see Holmes’ feelings for you…”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he see’s me as a doctor associate, a friend at best. I’m the idiot who went and fell in love with a sociopath. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He shoved past the two wizards, continuing his walk.

~

Draco turned to Harry, one eyebrow raised. “I told you we should just hex him.”

“That wouldn't do any good.” Harry scolded. “That would just make him more bitter.”

“Because you're so good at reading people.” Draco sneered. 

Harry whacked his arm. “Look, if John and Sherlock aren’t shagging by the end of the week, you can take over, ok?” He said, before sighing.

He really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to write Draco's solution


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John talk...sort of

John got back to the flat late that night, as per usual nowadays. 

What was unusual, however, was that Sherlock was up waiting for him, a resigned expression on his face.

John eyed him cautiously. “Hello.” He said slowly.

“Hello, John.”

He winced. Sherlocks tone was hard, unyielding. 

“We need to talk.”

Talk? Oh hell no.

John turned to walk out the door once more, only for Sherlock to pull an uncharacteristic move and grab the back of John's collar, yanking him back into the room.

“That's what you people do, isn't it? Talk?” Sherlock continued casually, as if he hadn't just half-choked John. “So let’s talk, John.”

“Fine.” John spat out, wriggling from Sherlock's grip and sitting in his armchair. “Talk.”

Sherlock blinked. It was clear he didn't think he'd get this far. “Well…”

“Of course.” John rolled his eyes. “Of course you have nothing.”

“Of course I have something, are you going to let me say it?” When John did not respond, Sherlock nodded. “Good. Now, we slept together. That much is obvious.”

“Yeah, you gonna get to something important soon?”

“Shut up. We slept together. You got defensive. It could be about your sexuality, but judging by how you’ve recently starting styling your hair, that’s not it.”

John glowered, but said nothing.

Sherlock continued. “Another possibility is that you’re genuinely angry that I ‘took advantage’ of you while you were drunk, but that would be ridiculous, as I was drunk as well. I assumed that wasn’t the case, as you're generally less stupid than most.”

“For fucks sake Sherlock, I’m not mad at you.” John cut in. “I’m bloody mad at myself, alright?”

Sherlock frowned, tilting his head and looking much like a confused puppy. “But why are you angry with yourself?”

John rolled his eyes. “I initiated, I probably didn't properly take care of you because I was drunk, I ran away like an idiot afterwards, I yelled at you, I’ve been ignoring you for three days, oh and let's not forget the fact that I went and bloody fell in love with your sociopathic arse. Is that enough Sherlock?” He turned around, stalking out the front door.

This time, Sherlock didn't stop him.

~

_ Potter and Malfoy, _

_ He’s in love with me. He told me while he was yelling at me. I wanted to say it back, however he left before I could. _

_I don’t think he’s going to come back this time._

_ Thank you for nothing. _

_ Sherlock Holmes _

~

_ Sherlock, _

_Don’t be an idiot, of course he’s going to come back, enough if he tries to move out he needs to get his stuff eventually._

_ Just be ready when he comes in. Tell him as soon as he walks through the door, no hesitation. _

_ Why did you even let him leave? _

_ Harry and Draco _

~

_ Potter and Malfoy, _

_ I’ll tell him, but he's angry, so there's a chance he won’t care. _

_ And I didn't just let him. You've met the man, it's impossible to stop him. _

_ Don't write back. _

_ Sherlock Holmes _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so I completely forgot about updating so I had to write this entire chapter this morning


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock finally talk.

John came back the next morning.

Sherlock was ready.

~

John crept into the apartment, struggling to remain unheard, turning to close the door behind. He turned to find Sherlock inches from himself, jumping back into the unyielding door and releasing a frankly embarrassing noise.

“Sherlock!”

“I love you.” Sherlock said, in that quick, incredibly blunt way that he always had. It took a second for John to comprehend, and when he did, his features twisted in confusion.

“You what?”

“I love you. Have for a while. Human error and all that.” Sherlock said, still incredibly fast, as though desperate to get the words out of his mouth.

John sighed. “Sherlock, if you’re just saying that, I’ll-”

“I’m not.” The other man cut him off quickly.

John studied him for a moment, in complete silence. Sherlock let him, attempting to only communicate sincerity in his features.

Then John nodded before yanking Sherlock down and kissing him.

~

An hour or so later, they lay together in bed, wrapped in the sheets and lazily kissing as the noise of London surrounded them. 

They were home.

~

_Dear Potter and Malfoy,_

_ I was against writing this, however, John forced my hand.  _

_ I am writing to thank you, for everything. I am not an easy man to put up with, something I imagine is magnified when dealing with my emotions. _

_ However, you accepted and helped me, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was just the kindness of your souls, even if I have doubted Malfoy having one in the past. _

_ John and I have resolved our conflicts, and are now together. I refrain from using the term ‘boyfriends’, as it is disgustingly adolescent. We have agreed to not quite put a label on this, anyway. _

_ I know I never said it, but I will say it now; congratulations on your marriage. Potter...Harry. I am glad you found someone, even if that someone wasn’t me. We both have ended up happier than we would have been if I had confessed to you all those years ago, don't you think? _

_ This is where I will be saying my final goodbye. I do not intend on ever returning to the wizarding world.  _

_ So, goodbye, Harry. And goodbye, Draco. _

_ Thank you for everything. _

_ Sherlock Holmes _

~

“Draco darling, come read this.” Harry called over his shoulder as he finished the letter.

Draco walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around Harry as he read the letter over his shoulder.

“The bastard actually managed it.” He said in wonder. Harry hit him.

“Of course he did. When has Sherlock Holmes ever not gotten what he wanted?”

The two stayed twined together, letter in Harry's hand, oblivious to the world around them.

~

Everyone was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the ending. It had taken me possibly over a year to write this, and I'm so proud of the way it turned out. Thank you everyone whos read and enjoyed this. I love you all.


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